Monthly Archives: December 2018

Wake me up. Wake me up!

Ghostless spirits fast convening

Faces full of fearsome meaning

Fallen angels, minions of the One

Assembled is the shoreline throng

They’re moaning an unearthly song

In penance for the wrongs that they have done

And I, among them, poked and prodded

By the grinning ghouls applauded

The lake of fire is hotter than the Sun

On weakening knees we mouth our pleas

Our souls absorb a dark disease

The inner onslaught makes us want to run

And now, there is but no escape

They’re closing in, our Selves to rape

“The Fire, or by your necks be hung!”

Stiltskin

This secret time,
this stillness of night,
find me in a cloistered glow.
With insanity’s obsession,
I hatch plots.
Given the grim seeds,
a lackey’s direction,
I turn each one over and over,
espying its flaws.
And you,
you my dear,
are none the wiser.
With witches’ Ouija I call you.
Turn, you will,
and come.

Humbug

The moon slides down into dizzy vision, a bright dime in deepening blue.
Along the street of home, straggling snow in sleepy silence.
Rising chimney smoke is breezeless, straight and true. 

I return from the shopping mall, having invented unneeded things to buy.
The right things seem to elude me, always.  Ahhh, no matter, I think.
After all, it is the thought that counts, eh?  Finding the opportune moment to sneak away, braving the Christmas traffic, the idiotic parking contests, the miles between washrooms.  And then, overpaying for some unique item you couldn’t find anywhere else.  After all, the rents in these places are sky-high.  You gotta expect that.

Gaining entry to my empty house,  and laden with parcels, I nearly fall down fourteen stairs as the stupid cat tries to trip me in a bid for attention.  Apparently, I forgot his food this morning.  As I set everything down haphazardly, it strikes me that I am bringing coals to Newcastle.  All around me are boxes from our recent move, as yet unpacked, accumulated during 42 years of marriage.  Some, I am sure, contain items unique at one time, that have never seen the light of day.  Discouraging, to say the least.

These are the things we become inured to in the life domestic.  Laugh if you like, at this
“First world problem”,  but there comes a breaking point.  I suspect it will be after I carry it all back up the fourteen stairs, in the spring, put it out for a “garage sale”, and then bring it back in again when no one wants it.

Merry Christmas!

Community

Gael Mueller has brought us one person’s very affecting story of the wildfires.  For me, it embodies what the human spirit is capable of in times of desperation.

gizzylaw's avatarTalkin' to Myself

A small town has its advantages. It can hold you close and nurture you. As a child, that is a very safe thing to have. As an adult, it often becomes intrusive, meddlesome and frustrating. Unless you need to be held close and nurtured.

My hometown was such a place. Five thousand people, two elementary schools, one middle school and one high school. I was surrounded by people who knew me from the day I was born. I was educated by my parents friends. Children that shared my kindergarten class shared my senior year in high school. I have friends that I have known all of my life.

Some of those friends have remained close. Some stay in touch and share the same history. Some do not stay in touch but when I hear their names I know who they are, who their parents were, I can place them and…

View original post 1,257 more words

In sway

I roll down the ghost road
in this time of quickening twilight,
uncaring of the mundane day.
A fifth part of me sober, in control,
but in the main,
I am swayed
by the lowness of the sundering clouds.
The cloistered scene.
There’s a strange sense of foreboding,
of a going down to the dark roots of guarded secrets,
unknowing all else.
This stays and presses,
saying settle, settle.
Though please,
I do not want to know you.
Nor you to know me.